


The Lost Princess

by DesertVixen



Series: The Lost Princess [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/pseuds/DesertVixen
Summary: A romance novelist comes face to face with her hidden past, and steps into one of her own stories...
Relationships: Crown Princess Who Was A Starving Writer In Her Former Life/Faraway King Who's A Fan Of Her Books
Series: The Lost Princess [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995919
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5
Collections: Fic In A Box





	The Lost Princess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vendettadays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vendettadays/gifts).



Cecily St.Clair wrote fairy tales.

Modern fairy tales, where princesses and princes found true love and happiness while living glamorous lives of luxury in fabulous castles in a fictional land where the weather was only bad if it benefited the story. They did face dangers – otherwise the books could get boring – but her readers knew that in the end, they would live happily ever after – and even longer. She rather enjoyed telling what happened next, letting one fairy tale lead into another and letting her readers get to know the characters like they were old friends they met for coffee, bringing characters back in to visit as seemed appropriate. 

In her stories, Cinderella’s slippers were really fabulous Prada stilettos, and it was seven college frat brothers who helped hide Snow White, but the modern trappings didn’t detract from the fact that they were fairy tales. Stories made of wishful thinking and moralistic lessons, with snappy dialogue and more than a little girl power. Her heroines were the stars of the story, matched by heroes who respected their skills and still desired them.

Her fairy tales were based on truth, on the scraps of conversation she had heard when the adults thought the children were all asleep – especially when the visitors from their faraway country came to visit – or sensational news stories she’d read when her parents weren’t looking. Some things came from her own fragmentary memories – she had been five when her parents were forced to leave Karalovska. Some things were lifted from the history of real places, melding pieces and parts together as she pleased. And some things, if she was honest, were just plain imagination and wish fulfillment. She had put together the pieces on a bit of a dare, after fiddling with them in her notebooks in private moments. 

No one had been more shocked than her when people devoured the first book and demanded more. They were romances, but there had always been a hint of the mystery – secret passages and missing heirs – and of suspense. In a way, she had let the rest of the world into her secret place, the place where the fairy tales were true.

Cecily enjoyed writing her fairy tales, and they paid the bills far better than teaching did. Maybe they weren’t high classical literature, but people enjoyed reading them. More than that, they enjoyed discussing them, trying to figure out the “real” stories, or just chatting about their favorite characters. She enjoyed joining in on the discussions via her author page on Facebook, enjoyed seeing how excited people were for the next book, running little fan contests and just sharing what was coming up next. The Internet made it accessible, a way for her to join in without giving too much away. 

It was only in the last two years that she had been able to give up her career as a high school history teacher, and write full-time, thanks to her biggest success so far – _The Lost Princess_. It was a thrilling, dashing story involving secret passages, mistaken identity, a lost inheritance, and a truly spectacular ruby necklace. The title character had discovered that she was not merely a commoner living in Cecily’s fictional kingdom of Marelyon, but actually the true princess. , With the help of a handsome young nobleman, the princess proved who she was and deposed the wicked uncle who’d been responsible for her parents’ death (and lived happily ever after with her nobleman, of course). 

_The Lost Princess_ had sold bigger than she had ever dreamed, and had been optioned for a movie adaptation. In some ways, her success was becoming a problem, with her publisher insisting on an author photograph for the inside of the dust jacket. The movie – if it ever got out of the optioning stage – would be an even bigger problem. Sometimes she wished she had chosen to publish under a pseudonym, but she had rebelled since she already lived under one.

In some ways, she was a lost princess herself. The wicked uncle had banished them from Karalovska because he disapproved of his brother’s non-noble wife, and they had come to America.

Her first book had been based on the Cinderella story – for one thing, because Cinderella stories were popular with romance readers, but in part because it was the foundational story of her family. 

Her parents had lived a similar story, only the “stepmother” had been the palace social secretary, and the “stepsisters” had been her two most-favored employees. In contrast, Cecily’s mother Eleanor had been brought in as an intern from a reasonably poor but well-connected family – her father was a doctor, married to an American woman. The secretary and her favorites had tried to keep Eleanor from getting to the ball, but the young woman had made enough friends that she didn’t need a fairy godmother and pumpkin coach, not when she knew a baroness with a grudge and a BMW.

Eleanor had made it to the ball and danced with Prince Edward – the youngest prince of three, not the heir, but still a prince – in her borrowed gown and shoes, and they had fallen in love. The social secretary had fired her, of course, but it had made no difference. Her path had been set. The path had not been made smoother by the fact that Edward had broken a long-standing engagement with a young noblewoman to marry someone seen as a pauper. 

Eleanor and Prince Edward had married, and six years later had been forced to leave with their children. Eleanor’s parents had been forced to leave as well, and they had gone to America. One of the requirements was that they not use the Karalovskan family name of Damacek, and so they had all – including Edward – taken the St.Clair name from Eleanor’s mother’s maiden name.

They had been happy in America, but Cecily acknowledged that it had not been the “happily ever after” that readers dreamed of – one of the reasons she was committed to always having a happy ending in her books.

But for all that she wrote fairy tales, for all that she was technically a princess, the last thing Cecily had expected was to wake up in one of her own stories. 

The fairy godmother didn’t appear to her in the garden among the pumpkins, but instead was her oldest and best friend on her cell phone.

“Cecily. Turn on the news, right now.” Sophie Lacy’s voice was tight with excitement, and Cecily should have realized that the news story was going to be a big one. 

She turned on the news, and five minutes later, knew her old life was over. 

In ten minutes, she was frantically packing a bag as the news reporter talked in the background, and was prepared for the call from her father five minutes after that. Instead of a pumpkin coach, he was sending a hired car to pick her up and whisk her to the private terminal of the airport. 

She was about to step into her own fairy tale – or horror story, she wasn’t yet sure.

They were going back to Karalovska.

*** 

“Still reading these books?” Caroline Marchmont, Dominic’s chief of staff said with a laugh as she picked up his copy of the latest Cecily St. Clair book.

“I happen to enjoy them,” he said absently, reading the schedule she had placed on his desk.

“Hardly an appropriate reading choice for a king,” she said with a raised eyebrow and chilly tone.

As always, Dominic Mikhailkov – King Dominic V of Demetria – ignored the raised eyebrow. Caroline was an indispensable part of his staff (and she knew it), with very decided opinions about everything involving his life. She had a much stronger protective sense when it came to his dignity, and while he knew he would be lost without her tidy mind, he did wish she would realize that while she organized almost every detail of his life (except for his Amazon account, which brought him the latest by Cecily St. Clair), she didn’t actually control his every thought.

The St.Clair books were his guilty pleasure, his escape from reality. They were fun in a way that his reality was not, but he recognized that she had some experience in his world, or a very similar one – some things simply rang too true to be mere invention. At the same time, he recognized that she was playing to popular concept of what modern royal luxury was about.

At the heart of it, the books were a refuge of sorts, a place he could retreat to whenever his reality was weighing him down. They were like visiting an old friend, even though he had never met the author. He had toyed with the idea of sending a royal summons to her publisher, but acknowledged it simply wasn’t practical. Besides, Caroline would not be amused, and that made her even more of a problem than usual.

He sighed as he saw the event planned for the evening – a formal dinner, followed by dancing with the latest crop of debutantes that Demetria had to offer. He had been king for three years, following his father’s early death from cancer, and the subject of a Queen Consort was beginning to be a touchy one. Dominic was well-aware that he needed to find a wife and secure the succession, but he refused to be rushed into a marriage he would be unable to undo. The king’s marriage would be forever, but Dominic was going to be happy as well, and everyone who was getting antsy could simply learn some patience.

Dominic did wish, however, that he didn’t have to keep repeating that command.

He was reading the notes on his afternoon meeting with his finance minister when Caroline and Simon Kuryakin, his chief of security, burst in.

“Turn on the television, Sire,” Kuryakin said sharply. “There’s trouble in Karalovska.”

Dominic realized his schedule had just been rearranged.

*** 

Her family was waiting in the lounge in the private terminal. Her father, Edward, seemed to be passing out of the “coolly making plans” stage and into the shock stage. Her mother, Eleanor, was seated beside him, holding their granddaughter Cassandra on her lap and entertaining the toddler. Cecily’s brother Charles and his wife Stephanie – Cassie’s parents – were taking advantage of a few unoccupied moments to sit down and eat. The smell of the food reminded Cecily that she had never made it as far as “dinner” in her own evening at home. Lastly, the baby of the family, sixteen-year-old Christiana, sprawled on one of the couches, headphones blocking out the rest of the world.

Cecily set down her backpack and suitcase, and thought they made something of a strange tableau – _The Karalovskan Royal Family_. 

Or what was left of it, Cecily thought. 

They were what was left of her father’s family. The thought had been running through Cecily’s mind, but it had not really hit her until she saw them.

One of her cousins – one she had never met, since he was eight years younger than Cecily – had decided to cut the succession down to a size that better suited him by a series of convenient poisonings and a partnership with a radical terrorist element. Only they had double-crossed their royal pawn, and planted a bomb in the vehicle he’d been riding in. He’d left behind enough proof of his plans and his actions to damn him after his death, but that didn’t change the fact that the succession had indeed been cut down to size. 

It sounded like the plot of a bad thriller novel – not the kind she would write, but they were popular enough. The problem was that the people who had been killed by the poison or explosions weren’t simply cardboard characters in a thriller – they had been her beloved grandmother, dimly remembered aunts and uncles, unknown cousins whom she had hoped to meet someday.

She had hoped to one day step foot on Karalovskan soil again, but she had never expected circumstances like this. She could never have imagined a plot like the one she was currently living. 

Twenty-three years ago, her parents had been forced to leave Karalovska in the wake of her grandfather’s death, and her eldest uncle becoming the king.

Twenty-three years ago, she had been a small child, stealing a last glance through the windows of the private jet at the only home she had ever known. Now, she was a grown adult. 

“Cecily!” Her mother beckoned her over with a wave of her hand. “I was starting to worry that you would be late. As soon as the Lacys are here, we will be leaving. The planes should be ready within the hour.”

Cecily stooped to kiss her mother’s cheek and exchange a high-five with her niece. The Lacys were also Karalovskan, although they had chosen to leave, rather than being thrown out. Sophie and Cecily had been friends since before they could remember – Sophie’s mother had been the baroness with a grudge, and the same grudge that had prompted her to aid the younger Eleanor had inspired her to leave when the new king was crowned. It was fitting, however, that they would be returning together.

“Planes?” Stephanie asked from across the room. “I had assumed we would all be traveling together.”

Eleanor shook her head. “It’s been deemed a safety hazard, after everything that has happened in the last seventy-two hours in Karalovska. Cecily and Edward, at least, need to be on separate planes.”

Cecily nodded. Karalovskan law had some issues, but one of the nineteenth-century rulers had pushed through the idea of primogeniture – the first-born inherited, male or female. If her father was to be the next Karalovskan king, she was the crown princess.

*** 

The Lacys blew in, with Sophie giving Cecily a hard hug. Her parents, Johanna and Frederick, had been a presence in Cecily’s life as long as she could remember – Johanna had been an advocate for modernization in Karalovskan society – although she was a baroness in her own right, she had married a non-noble lawyer who had run for office. It had been Johanna who had given Eleanor the information she had needed to integrate into the royal family – Johanna who had been a liberal firebrand for reform – Johanna who had chosen to stand with her friend, not her family and tradition,

Edward stood, drawing a deep breath. “We need to get going, then. How shall we split up?”

Cecily, busy holding Cassie so her brother and his wife could get their things together, shot a look at her father. They had barely had any time to talk, and he was clearly having a hard time dealing with all of it. It made sense – for them, he would have been close to more of the people who had died – he had known them. If he hadn’t been banished, he would have been among their number. 

But soon they would need to talk. They had to decide how they were going to write this new chapter together.

After a few moments of discussion, they were largely split along gender lines. Edward, Charles, Stephanie, Cassie, and Frederick would go on one plane, while Cecily, Eleanor, Johanna, Sophie, and Christiana would be on the second. 

As they walked along the tarmac to the plane, Eleanor froze for a moment. “Surely you have to be kidding me,” she whispered to Johanna. Standing by the loading stairs with a neat uniformed attendant was a tall woman with dark hair in unflattering sausage curls and an ugly yellow formal suit. 

Johanna gave a low laugh. “I wonder if this means Lady Trevor is still the social secretary.”

Sophie and Cecily exchanged glances. Was this one of the “evil stepsisters” of her mother’s Cinderella story, Cecily wondered? Her suspicion was confirmed a moment later.

“Drusilla Perrin,” the woman announced herself in sharp nasal tones. “Dearest Eleanor, dearest Johanna, it’s good to see you again, even under such trying circumstances.”

“Yes, of course,” Eleanor replied calmly. “It’s good of you to come assist us.”

“And this must be Cecily and Sophie,” Drusilla continued. “My, they have grown up to be lovely young women, if a bit…casual.” She pronounced the last word as if she was discussing some distasteful subject. “Luckily we have some suitable clothing on board.”

Sophie gave her a cool appraising look. “Perhaps we will find something suitable, but we have clothes as well.”

Cecily repressed a laugh as her best friend went on the attack. It was going to be a long flight.

*** 

The private plane was posher than anything Cecily had imagined for her books. The passenger cabin was essentially a living room, with cushioned seats. Christiana immediately claimed a corner section for herself and curled up under a blanket with her headphones on, blocking out the world. Cecily couldn’t blame her baby sister – she had been born in America after they had been there for seven years, and she was being uprooted from the only home she had ever known. Meanwhile, she and Sophie sprawled together in the other corner companionably.

As it turned out, Drusilla Perrin had expanded her portfolio since her social secretary days, and had become the secretary to now-deceased Queen Irene. The first hour of the flight was spent with her giving them a rundown of the situation as it had stood when she departed. The only good news she brought them was that Queen Dowager Penelope was still among the living, as was Princess Marie, the wife of the second prince, William. 

“Of course, by our succession rules, Princess Marie is not eligible. So, you and Edward get your chance at last, Eleanor.” Drusilla finished.

“We were hardly waiting for such a chance,” Eleanor said quietly. “We had settled and happy lives in America. But we will rise to the occasion, I am sure.”

There were a few moments of quiet, and Drusilla spoke again. “I will understand, of course, if you would prefer to have someone else as your secretary, Eleanor, but I hope you will let me help make a smooth transition.”

Eleanor exchanged glances with Johanna. “I am sure there are no hard feelings on my side, Drusilla. After all, you weren’t the one who had Edward and I exiled. I hope you can show me the ropes. You were always very good at your job.”

Drusilla had the grace to flush. “I…thank you, Eleanor.” She smiled slightly. “At least, if I may call you Eleanor until the coronation.”

The suggestion that they all catch some sleep so they would be fresh when they arrived in Karalovska was a well-received one. Drusilla had informed them that she would ensure everyone was awake to freshen up and look their best, although it would be early evening when they arrived.

“Early morning would be more fitting, but time zones being what they are, it should be a lovely twilight when you touch down,” Drusilla explained.

***

The trouble in Karalovska was making everyone – and everything – in Demetria quite tense. Dominic knew his security chief was being run ragged trying to keep up with everything, and the television in Dominic’s office was constantly turned to a news station covering the situation. His intelligence service was providing reports as well, and it was…interesting to see what things were showing up in a different light.

For all that Karalovska and Demetria shared a coastline and a short border, relations between the countries had been chilly for twenty-three years, since the now-deceased King Phillip had taken the reins after his father’s death. He was unsure as to what had caused the chill, but there had definitely been one. 

“So who inherits now?” He posed the question at the end of a long brief on how conditions in Karalovska had contributed to the terrorist movement that had risen up. “Is there some distant cousin?”

“Actually, Sire, there is a third brother. Prince Edward, who departed rather hastily twenty-three years ago. Our understanding is that he and Phillip had differences of opinion about the path forward for Karalovskan society. However, Prince Edward was never asked to abdicate his position in the succession – likely because it seemed as if there would never be a need.” The intelligence analyst, a nervous looking young man named Andrei Reykov, who had been dragged up from some dark corner of the security office, consulted his notes.

Caroline picked up the narrative. “There were also a great deal of rumors that King Phillip disapproved of his brother’s choice of spouse – he married a commoner whom he danced with at a ball and fell madly in love. He had been previously engaged to the daughter of Karalovska’s unofficial power broker, Count Orloff. Phillip is said to have been…most unhappy with the loss of that connection. However, since both he and Prince William were already married, there was nothing to be done.”

Something about that series of events was familiar, but Dominic couldn’t put his finger on it. “A Cinderella story?”

Caroline sighed. “There does not appear to have been a glass slipper involved, but otherwise yes, it bears some resemblance.”

Reykov continued. “Two planes were dispatched from Karalovska last night, most likely to pick up the new royal family. The news has been on the global networks, of course.”

“Of course,” Dominic echoed, although he doubted most people could find Karalovska or Demetria on a map – a situation that actually suited him quite well. “There used to be an American military base in Karalovska, correct?”

Reykov nodded. “They were also asked to depart, rather hastily, twenty-three years ago.”

Dominic turned to Caroline. “Needless to say, as soon as we have word that they are on the ground, I want communications opened. Our sympathies for the horrible events, of course, and we stand ready to assist as neighbors should. You know the drill, Caroline.”

She nodded.

Dominic stood, ending the meeting. There was something very familiar about the Karalovskan Prince Edward – and it certainly wasn’t a part of the histories he had been forced to learn. 

It would come to him, he was sure.

*** 

“You cannot intend to get off the plane in that,” Drusilla said sharply, pointing a skinny finger at Cecily. “We have suits and gowns that should fit you or that we can hastily alter.”

Cecily shook her head. “We’ve been talking since breakfast about the fact that there will have to be changes in Karalovska. I don’t intend to step off the plane looking like something out of a fairy tale.”

They’d enjoyed a meal, and her mother had filled her in on some of the ideas she and Edward had discussed. Karalovska had remained rather behind-the-times, and getting them up to a more modern standard would be the family mission. 

“You do not understand the importance of this first impression, Princess. People will be expecting to see a proper princess. You do not understand Karalovska.”

Sophie was nibbling on a croissant and watching the show. Cecily shot a glance back at her, then stood.

“You’re absolutely right. I don’t know much about conditions in Karalovska, possibly because I forced to leave when I was five. That’s what I have Sophie for,” she said with a grin. “In an earlier era, she’d have been my lady-in-waiting, but I think she will make an excellent chief of staff.”

Drusilla stood there, mouth slightly open. Cecily forged on, pressed her advantage. “I intend to start as I will go on, and that includes how I dress.” She swept a hand down, indicating her jeans, navy blue Uggs and her University of Michigan hoodie. At least in Karalovska she should be able to escape fans of _the_ Ohio State University. "This is who I am."

Sophie raised a hand. “Maybe I can suggest a compromise. What if we at least do your hair and makeup, so that you look a little more…polished?”

Cecily nodded. “I can get on board with that.”

Drusilla shook her head, and turned back to Eleanor. “Do you have any input?”

“I think Cecily is exactly right,” Eleanor said quietly. “Perhaps you might have a nice pantsuit that I could change into?”

“Pantsuit?” Drusilla looked as if even the word was distasteful. “You know that royal dress code in Karalovska requires skirts or dresses, by-“

“By order of King Phillip,” Eleanor said quietly. “I am well aware of my departed brother-in-law’s views on many subjects. I happen to not agree with any of them. Sophie, would you be a dear and steam out my black pantsuit? It’s in my garment bag.”

Sophie nodded. “I can do that. Mother?” She turned to Johanna. 

“You know, I rather find the idea of showing back up in jeans appealing, but perhaps a touch too radical for me.” Johanna sipped at her tea.

Drusilla made a sound that might have been a muffled snort. One word that had definitely been used to describe the Baroness Johanna Lacy back in the day had been “radical”.

“I’ll pick something out for you,” Sophie promised. “I’ll follow the crown princess and stay in what I’m wearing.” She wore jeans as well, although she’d chosen heeled leather boots and a dark gray cowl-neck sweater that was a little more sophisticated.

The last hour of the flight seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Cecily had never been so nervous in her life, but she was determined to conceal it. Perhaps if she just pretended that this was Marelyon, and she was one of her own characters, she would feel less nervous.

Finally – and much too soon, all at the same time – the plane was on the ground. She knew her father’s plane would have touched down a half-hour before, giving Security time to get him tucked away and be ready to focus on them.

The air was chilly, as she stepped down and saw a huge crowd behind the tall security fence, with signs and pictures and flowers, cheering madly as they stepped off the plane. Drusilla was following her, trying to hiss instructions into her ear, but Cecily ignored her. 

_Act like one of your characters_ , she told herself. _Be the lost princess_.

Some members of the crowd were holding posters that showed her as a little girl, maybe one of the only public shots that had ever been released of her. She approached the fence, waving and smiling. 

“People of Karalovska,” she said in her best Karalovskan – although they had always spoken it at home to a degree, it had been a long time since she had a prolonged conversation in it – “I thank you for your welcome. Forgive me if my language is a little rusty, but I have been away from you for a long time.”

The crowd went crazy as she approached the fence. Cecily knew she was probably giving Palace Security nightmares, but she felt like they had to capitalize on this moment, this goodwill, if they were to have any success. Let them see that the Crown Princess was a real woman, one who wore jeans and drank soda and lived - just as they did.

An older lady – probably about the age of her grandmother stood nearest the fence, waving a garland of Karalovskan roses – the incredibly deep red that Cecily had not seen since she was five. They had been her grandmother’s favorite, she remembered.

“Throw me the flowers, Grandmother,” Cecily shouted, and caught the wreath handily as it sailed over the fence. Smiling, she placed it on her head, and listened to the crowd cheer.

Perhaps she could get used to this.

*** 

“Sire, the Crown Princess and future Queen are arriving,” Caroline set down a tea tray. 

Dominic turned his attention to the television. He’d just watched Prince Edward’s arrival, along with some other family members. Caroline had recognized Frederick Lacy at once – although she had been a teenager when he’d left Karalovska, her parents had spoken of him often as a moderating force. The crowd had been pleased, even if the future King had seemed a little stiff, a little shocked still. 

He watched in amusement as a young woman in jeans and a sweatshirt – _well, they are Americans_ , he reminded himself – stepped off the plane. She had long dark hair that fell in waves almost to her waist, and was rather petite. He nodded, giving her points for choosing to use Karalovskan, even if it was a touch stilted. There was a pair of older women, one of whom must be the future queen. And two other young women – well, he corrected, one woman and a teen girl who looked as if she wanted to be swallowed up by the earth.

“So that was where the Lacys disappeared to,” Caroline said absently. “We should have guessed. Johanna Lacy is the one responsible for the commoner turning into Cinderella, after all. I’ll lay odds the blonde woman is her daughter.”

Dominic watched, wincing as he imagined how the security detail must feel. Simon would have been apoplectic if he had gotten that close to a crowd, and there hadn’t been terrorist incidents lately in Demetria.

There was something familiar about the Crown Princess, something that he felt he should know. But it was not until she placed the wreath of deep red roses on her head that it clicked for him. The closeup let him see that she had pale hazel eyes, the kind that likely shifted color depending on mood and attire.

He had seen her before. Ignoring Caroline, who was commenting on the televised scene, he strode to his bookshelf and took out his hardcover of _The Lost Princess_. There, on the inside of the book jacket, Cecily St.Clair smiled out at him.

No, he corrected himself. Cecily Damacek, Crown Princess of Karalovska, smiled out at him.

“Are you looking at one of those ridiculous books now?” Caroline said sharply. "We really need you to focus on the situation." 

“Not so ridiculous now, I think. In fact, Caroline, I think you’re about to find this book very interesting.”

He handed her the book, holding it open so she could see the author’s photo. “Does she look familiar?”

Caroline looked at the book, then at the television, as if she could not believe her eyes. “This is unbelievable.”

“They do say truth is stranger than fiction.”

Suddenly, he found he was very much looking forward to meeting the new Karalovskan royals, the Crown Princess in particular. He rather thought they would find a lot to talk about.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this! It's stretching the "king in a faraway land" a bit, but I think it still fulfills the spirit.


End file.
